Splinters
by gesturetowardstheuniverse
Summary: Remus discovers that time splits itself.
1. 16 July 1993

Remus does not use magic anymore if he can help it.

Usually, he can help it; he makes sure that he can help it. He surveys the sticky mess of unnaturally blue something that is currently terrorizing French Philosophy. Some sort of slushy beverage, spilled by some young ruffian. Shameful.

He inspects the books, trailing loving fingers over the syrupy spines. The monstrous stuff has been oozing down the shelves in evil little rivers and creeping into their occupants for maybe an hour now; they are beyond repair. Surely not, somebody in his head snaps. No need to go to drastic measures. No, none at all. Something crunches under his foot; a book with stained pages had been knocked to the floor. He picks it up: Descartes.

It is too much.

He reaches into his pocket and finds the thin smoothness of his wand. He is uncomfortable with how familiar it still feels in his hand. The word is throwing punches on his tongue, fighting to escape. Scourgify. No, there must be some other option. But the books...He collects himself and-

"Remus?"

He yelps and his muscles do a strange little spasm, as if the word had bitten him. He yanks his empty hand from his pocket. Terry giggles.

"Sorry to startle you, mate. You shouldn't work so hard- I think you're losing it," she chides. Terry is a nice girl. Late twenties, pretty dark skin, likes early Greco-Roman history. A nice colleague.

He smiles politely. "Just getting old, I suppose."

She swats at him playfully. "You're not old! Forty is the new thirty, after all."

"I'm thirty-three."

She forms a nervous series of semi-words. Remus does not take offense, it's an easy mistake to make. He quickly double checks. That's correct, isn't it? Yes, that's right, his birthday isn't for another...two days? Approximately.

When he next pays attention she has changed subjects. "Good God, what happened here?"

"Some kid, I'm assuming. I was just-"

She shakes her head. "No, don't bother, it looks pretty far gone. The janitors will handle it, I expect. Anyway, you've been here long enough. Some of us are going to have a drink at that place across the street. Why don't you come with us?"

Drink with people? It strikes him as odd. Then he remembers that it is now Friday night and people do such things with their friends on Friday nights. Is Terry his friend?

"When's closing?"

"Half an hour ago." She is giggling again.

He consults his watch. Ah.

She is smiling vaguely, expectantly, with her head tilted to the side; she is awaiting a reply to her invitation. Of course he will decline, Remus does not go out on Friday nights and have drinks. Moreover, Remus does not drink. He hasn't in...four years? Yes, that must be it. He imagines that he would very much like to go. He could have ginger ale; he'd been doing well, he'd be fine. He would quite like Terry to like him, and the 'some of us' she referred to, surely including Susan and Nathan- well, he would like them to like him. Of course. His colleagues are pleasant company. He could go. Nevertheless...he feels tired tonight. Too much so to like or be liked by anyone.

He smiles politely. Remus does not smile any sort of smiles but polite ones. "That is very kind of you, Terry, but I don't think so."

"Oh...Alright then, that's fine, I just thought I'd ask, you know."

Her tone is almost hurt; it immediately makes Remus feel awful. "I'd like to, it's just that I...I'm...I don't drink."

"Oh, okay, I understand." Her dark eyes sweep his face, and there's a new expression there tugging at the corners of her small smile. He sincerely hopes it isn't pity.

"Well, see you later Remus." Terry gives him a pat on the arm and walks off.

As soon as he finds himself alone, Remus becomes strikingly aware of how exhausted he is. He wanders out into the darkness, picking at a hole in the sleeve of his jumper with his thumb, and his mind pulls up the image of Terry and Susan and Nathan at that place across the street having a very nice time and plasters it across his eyes. It was the right thing to decline, he concludes. He's done very well for four years, he should avoid temptation. Yes, of course he could have gone and ordered ginger ale and managed well enough, but. Well, this is a better plan, really. He really is very tired tonight.

Remus does not pay attention. He notices with mild interest that he is on the bus. He notices the pull in his muscles and in his tendons toward the swelling moon, reminding him of that which he cannot simply ignore. Then he is on the street again, and then he finds himself in his flat. He gravitates to the only chair, his body folds into the spongy perhaps-leather the way it knows how, and he glances vaguely around the place. The colour of the walls has always evaded him. Olive? Possibly. He thumbs his frayed sleeve. A new jumper would be a good idea. Remus does not buy new clothes. This one, however, is getting quite old and worn through at the elbows. How long has he had it? Remus does not throw things out, so it has been a long time. Years. Since before he got a job at the bookstore. Since before his mother had convinced him to move to Newcastle, before she'd fallen ill and the doctors had said it wasn't serious. Since before he'd sold the old place in the village. Since...since.

Today's paper contains the type of news that one peruses and does not read. Unusually cool this summer. A string of robberies around Quayside. Then he turns the page and knows that this is a joke, a lie, a mistake, because that man is long dead.

A sick prank, a hallucination, that's not right, Remus should go to bed and get some sleep and in the morning that photo won't be there, because that man is dead, he never existed, he was sucked up with the rest of that life that Remus had never actually lived. So cruel, such a terribly cruel joke, because isn't he functioning? 'Functioning', which is only a few steps from 'normal', and then just a few more to 'happy'? Finally, finally, after all those years of sleepwalking? The dream, the nightmare, it is over, he is awake, it is gone, and this possibly-olive room and this maybe-leather chair and this probably-too-old jumper are the real world and that face is nothing but the last vestige of a bad dream that clings to his consciousness after he opens his eyes. Dead dead dead, he is dead, dead people exist in nightmares only. Close the paper, throw it away, go to bed and then wake up. If the maybe-leather hadn't sprouted invisible talons that are now holding him firmly in place he might have done just that, and never remembered that that man is actually, in the legal sense, very much not dead.

Escaped from high security. Armed and very. Call this number if.

He needn't have worried. Of course it is someone else; this is a Muggle paper, after all. And no one escapes from- there. It is unheard of. How positively ridiculous, that he immediately assumed that it was- him. Assumed, just because the man in that motionless photograph has the same name as- him, and just because he has the same eyes. The very same eyes. Remus does not breathe.

The dingy little window decides to make a familiar clicking noise. Remus does not receive owl post. But there it is, at that precise moment: the letter from the wise old man from a world that does not exist, with knowing sympathy and with an offer.

Remus does not sleep.


	2. 8 August 1977

"Jesus Christ, my ears are bleeding."

"Come off it! This, mate, this is music."

"This, mate, is the sound of a first year being shoved down a garbage disposal."

"Fuck you."

"Fuck you back."

"Wait...who's Judy? Sirius, why are they dying? Prongs is right, this song is crap."

"Er, lads, I'm trying to drive- might not want to-"

No avail. James hurls himself forward at the dial and Remus nearly slams into a telephone pole in the ensuing battle of long boy-limbs.

"Aack, get your feet out of my face!" says Peter.

"MHHFFUUGHHHFFF" says Sirius.

"James, stop suffocating Sirius and get your feet out of Peter's face. Sirius, stop kicking, I don't want to kill us all and if I wreck my mum's car I can assure you that we will all die violently." Sirius loves to crack jokes about Moony being the mother of the group, but even Remus has to admit that at times his scoldings are just a tad maternal. As usual, said scoldings have gone unnoticed. James receives a well-aimed elbow with a strangled "GUUGH" as Sirius frees his face, resulting in a hearty "THWAK" when he unsticks his cheek from the window. Remus blinks and James' head, caught soundly in the crook of Sirius' curled arm, is reddening and emitting outraged sputtering sounds.

"But really though, who's dying?"

"That would be us Pete, if the flailing in the front seat does not immediately cease."

Sirius is presented with a very stern Moony Glare. He peers down at the cursing mass of black hair squashed against his chest with polite surprise.

"Ah. Yes. Sorry, Moony."

"I'm gonna die in this thing because of you lot. Yeah, my first ride in a car and I die. And it'll be all your fault."

"Don't look at me, this great stupid berk was strangling me!"

"Ten points to Gryffindor for your observational skills, Jimmy. Don't think I won't go back at it if you try to change the station again."

"Moony, are you seeing this? Control your mutt!"

"Don't put me in charge, he's as much your mutt as he is mine."

"I sure hope not."

"Shaddup, Pete."

"What? Anyway, no one's told me who in Merlin's name Judy is!"

"Some Muggle bint with a stupid jacket."

"Sirius, release James' head right this moment." Sirius responds with a twisted expression that clearly says "Harrumph", but he does as he is told. Remus is using the Dangerous Voice.

"But Mooooonnnyyyy, he insulted my jacket! My jacket is cool. You like my jacket, don't you?"

Sirius is employing his trademark puppy eyes. He punches down the ensuing fluttery feeling. Manipulative bastard. His tone of voice sprouts eyes and rolls them as he says "Sure, Padfoot."

"You must have some weird kinks, mate, 'cause he looks like he's been rolling around in scrap metal."

Sirius curls his lip in a canine snarl and takes a snap at James, who tumbles backward onto Peter's lap. "My jacket is cool. Sid Vicious has got one like this."

"'Vicious'...? His name is 'Vicious'? AND WHO THE HELL IS JUDY?"

"Bugger if I know. Bet she's got a stupid jacket."

The song appears to finish, yet an equally loud, fuzzy thrashing comes from the speakers. Remus is very confused. "Who's got a vicious jacket...?"

Sirius directs a martyred sigh at Remus. "Good god, I thought at least you'd understand me. You grew up with Muggle stuff!"

"Yes, but I don't study it with the same...er...ferocity as you do."

Sirius grins. "Dear old Mum hated it." The grin shifts seamlessly into a childish pout. Remus never ceases to be amazed by Sirius' face; it has the uncanny ability to mold easily from one extreme to the next, each somehow sitting flatteringly on his refined features. Beautiful, manipulative bastard.

"I'm sorry, but I just can't be with someone who doesn't know who Sid Vicious is. We're through."

Remus reminds himself that rolling one's eyes while at the wheel of a moving vehicle is dangerous and irresponsible. "You're dumping me over a guy named 'Vicious'?"

"Yeah. I like him better than you."

"Can you two save your lover's spat for later? My poor ears are still suffering. Someone change the bloody station."

"Yup, I second Prongs."

"Go play with the Whomping Willow, you lot. The Ramones are artists."

"Are they, now? Cause this sounds a bit like Peter singing in the shower. Pete, mate, you should sue them for millions."

"Good plan. Then maybe I could buy better friends."

"Har har har."

"Don't look at me like that, my face smells like feet because of you!"

"Can we reach an agreement about the station before Padfoot and Prongs make me crash the car?"

"An EXCELLENT plan, my darling love puppy-"

"OhfortheloveofGod-"

"Guuuaaarghhh-"

"Sirius, whathaveIsaidaboutcalling-"

"Shaddup, you like it. Anyway, I think we can all reach an agreement-" He slathers the word thick with sarcasm. "-that you lot's music is shite and the Muggle stuff is better. There ya go."

"You're...an arse."

"Well said, Pete."

"Hey, I'm just saying, put that band that Prongs is always wetting himself over next to The Ramones and-"

James makes a disbelieving sound somewhere between a snort and a scoff. "Just because The Drowned Books don't have jackets-"

"Sorry Prongsie, but we've established that my jacket is cool, so fuck off. And The Drowned Fish are just a bunch of twats trying to be Pink Floyd." Sirius cranks up the volume.

"Pink? Why have all these Muggle singers got such weird names?" Peter is rallying to be heard above the wails exploding from the wireless.

"Its a band, not a singer!"

"Yeah, but which one of 'em's called PINK?"

"Look, I don't know about certain twats with their jackets, but-"

The car lurches to a stop, catapulting stomachs into throats and faces into the backs of seats. Remus turns off the wireless.


	3. 1 September 1993

Remus knows that he is asleep on the Hogwarts Express with his face smashed uncomfortably against the window. He knows that he is in his thirties and greying and feeling ridiculous in second-hand wizard robes after a decade of wearing jeans and jumpers. He knows that James and Peter and Lily and Sirius are sitting around him having a nice time, and that in an hour or two they'll be back for another year at the place that was so effortlessly, obviously home.

James swipes a hand through his belligerent hair and grins. "Watch this, Moony." With a flourish of his wand he sends a few Every Flavor Beans soaring from their box to rain down onto Lily's head.

Before the beans hit the floor, Lily is on her feet with her wand fixed between James' eyes. "**Don't go looking for trouble,** James-"

"**I don't go looking for trouble.**" James sounds irritated. "**Trouble usually finds _me_.**"

Remus, Peter, and Sirius, who know this to be the hugest lie of the century, laugh from their stomachs. He hears a high-pitched whistling sound of unknown origin.

"Hey, what's that noise?" Remus asks.

"**I've read it's the only entirely non-Muggle settlement in Britain**," Lily answers.

"**Yeah, they've got _everything_...**" Peter adds. His eyes are bright, his voice is unhurried and good-natured. "**Pepper Imps- they make you smoke at the mouth- and great fat Chocoballs full of strawberry mousse and clotted cream, and really excellent sugar quills, which you can suck in class and just look like you're thinking what to write next-**"

Sirius is lounging against Remus' side with an arm thrown casually around him. He is young and beautiful and roguish in Remus' general direction. He grins wolfishly. "Yeah, but I've **already murdered a whole bunch of people in the middle of a crowded street.**" He winks. "What do ya think of that, Moony?"

Remus screams it at the top of his lungs, lungs that aren't his own, and the words exist around him, thick and viscous:

"**Get out of here!**"

No no no. He runs away. Everything turns pleasantly fuzzy and dark for a long time.

"**I'm going to go and ask the driver what's going on**," says Lily. Lily? No...

Shuffling feet, the sound of bodies running into each other, pained noises. Slowly he wrenches himself to consciousness and shrugs off the vestiges of dream-logic. But it is still dark.

He is on the Hogwarts Express. It is 1993, he is thirty-four and greying and he is not going home. But why is it dark?

The letter from Dumbledore. The understanding and the sympathy and the warning about the extra precautions that have to be taken this year. Extra precautions, the guards. The guards. _Ah._

First things first. The children.

**"Quiet!"** He fumbles for his wand and produces some light. **"Stay where you are."** He can't take them on, nor would it be wise to do so. But perhaps he can keep them from going into the compartment and scaring the children. Which is all it is, he thinks bitterly. Scaring children. As if this train, on its way to Hogwarts- _Hogwarts_, for Merlin's sake -could at this moment be holding...

Time splits itself into splinters. He has only a moment to remember that it's been well over ten years since he last saw a dementor in person, even longer since he has had to cast a Patronus. He has only a second to wonder whether or not he can do it, and half a second to remember with a jolt the form it took. The door slides open and he has a tiny splinter-second left in which to be afraid.

Remus' breath is stabbed in his throat. A clever one, he thinks. Clever, and cruel- revealing its horrible, corpse-like hand, only long enough to shock all hope of defense out of the occupants of the compartment. He freezes. He knows what comes next, but he cannot do anything to stop it from happening. It inhales all the warmth from their bodies, and the deep, deep cold takes over...

Icy fog rolls in over his eyes and fills his ears. He knows what happens now...The part of him that can still think wonders distantly what it will use. So much to choose from. Too far gone, he invites it to take its pick.

_A __sleepy __hum. _"_God, __I __love __you __so __fucking __much_..."

Please, no...

_His __voice __is __muffled __by __the __pillow. _ "_Soooorry, __it's __too __early __for __me __to __be __such __a __girl_..._Look __what __you've __done, __you __bastard_..."

This one is clever, he thinks coldly, and from very far away. So much bad to choose from, and it takes the good and throws it back in his face...

"_But really, __though.__Just...aaagh...I __do. So __much_."

It's been so long since he's heard that voice...So long...

A heavy thud of a small body hitting the floor. The fog vanishes, the voice is gone for good. Remus goes into fight mode: don't think, just act. Anger grows hands and twists his insides; how dare it show him that, how dare it use that against him and then go after these children, these innocent children-

**"None of us is hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks. Go."**

Remus yanks his wand out of his pocket and stares unblinkingly into the dark abyss of the dementor's hooded face. For a moment he is boiling over with frantic, reckless rage, and it is wonderful, he is fighting again, he has an enemy, he has a _point_. Then he is having a staring contest with an eyeless creature and feeling incredibly stupid. Only one option. He says the words without quite meaning them, but this dementor in addition to being clever is weak, and the frail wisp of silver sends it away.

The children are pale in the light cupped in his hand with their eyes fixed, unblinking, on the floor. It takes a moment for Remus to register what it is that they are staring at: a heap of spasming limbs on the compartment floor. The flames in his palm scatter bluish shadows over the terrified faces of the students as they crowd around their classmate.

"I think he's having a fit-"

"Someone wake him up!"

"Oh, I wish they'd turn on the lights!"

The words have not left the mouth of a particularly frightened looking boy when the lanterns sputter back to life and the train begins to move underneath them. Remus quickly extinguishes the flames and pushes past a head of ginger hair to the boy on the floor. Time breaks into mad little splinters again, and for the length of exactly one time-splinter he wonders if he is still asleep. Of course he remembers what his best friend looked like, but. 'But', his brain stutters incompetently as a bushy haired girl lightly slaps Harry's cheek on James' face.

**"Harry! Harry! Are you all right?"**

Harry. A goofy sort of grin yanks at the corner of Remus' mouth. They'd all said that Harry looked just like his dad, graciously ignoring the fact that all babies look the same. Now Remus wonders, almost sadly, if the boy had gotten anything from Lily at all.

**"W-what?"** Harry opens his eyes.

Oh. That's right.

**"Are you okay?"** asks the owner of the ginger hair.

**"Yeah...What happened? Where's that- that thing? Who screamed?"**

Remus' brain has a habit of attempting to tackle far too many thoughts at once. In this particular moment, he notes Harry's response, knowing what it means: of course he alone of the children is impacted so severely, of course the dementor found horrors in his memories that would floor any thirteen-year-old. _Who screamed? _Oh God. Could-? He observes the unnatural pallor of the boy's face and the sweat accumulating under his glasses, and is run over with a hysterical urge to hug him, protect him. Simultaneously he sees Harry's eyes skate over him in the search for the fled shadow, and he figures something else out. The thought makes him sick; he wants to grab the boy by the shoulders and yell _Do __you __remember __me? Do __you __have __any idea __who __I __am? __Do __you __know __that __after __you __were __born __I __was __the __third __person __to __hold __you? __Even before __your __father, because __he'd __passed __out, __but __the __Healer __said __it __was __alright, __that __happens __all __the __time?_

Then this particular time-splinter is spent and he is a responsible adult. First things first. He retrieves the chocolate from his pocket- lucky that the trolley wares have always been so overpriced- and snaps it into pieces. The unexpected sound makes the children jump.

**"Here. Eat it. It'll help."** He makes sure that Harry gets a large portion; his colour still hasn't returned.

**"What was that thing?"**

**"A dementor. One of the dementors of Azkaban."** The students' eyes are still roughly the size of tennis balls, as if...well, as if a ragged, comatose stranger had just leapt up, saved them from certain doom, and then distributed chocolate.

**"Eat. It'll help. I need to speak to the driver, excuse me..."**

He eases out of the compartment, makes his way toward the front of the train, and the familiar feeling of _what-have-I-gotten-myself-into _welcomes him like an old friend.

* * *

><p>Everything in bold belongs to J.K. Rowling. And everything not in bold.<p> 


	4. 2 March 1969

As far as mums go, Remus' is pretty alright. She lets him take his plate into the front room and eat at the sofa if there's something particularly good on television, and usually joins him herself. Mum's a good person to watch telly with, too, he thinks as he takes a bite of chicken. She doesn't ask too many questions and pretends not to notice when the Daleks scare him. An advert comes on, Remus notices he is perched at the edge of the sofa, and he settles himself back into the cushions.

Mum makes a "Oh-how's-he-going-to-save-the-day-this-time" type of _hmm_, then turns to look at Remus. She frowns.

"Darling," she says, touching a purple bruise near his elbow, "How'd that happen?"

"I fell," he replies through a mouthful of sprouts.

"Really?"

"Yeah, mum."

"You're quite sure Gene didn't have anything to do with it? Mrs Harper told me you two haven't been getting along."

"Nah, I just fell down, that's all."

Mum pushes some of her yellow hair behind her ear and breathes out. "I'll put something on it if it's hurting you." Without seeming to really think about it, she smooths down his fringe with one hand. "Have you thought at all about what we talked about last week?"

"What?" Remus chases a sprout around his plate with his fork.

"About moving. Have you thought about it?"

"No."

"Well, I've found a very lovely place for us to look at. If you're ready to see it, of course. I don't want to rush you."

"Okay. I'd like to see it."

"Wonderful. We'll go this weekend. It's a flat. It's small, but it's very nice. The room that you would take has got a nice big window in it where you can sit and read. I'm sure you'll like it."

"Okay. That sounds nice."

The program comes back on. The two on the sofa immediately stop talking until the announcements come back again.

Mum shudders. Remus grins. "You were scared!"

"What? Of course I wasn't scared! That's just silly."

"Yeah you were! Yeah you were, you were scared!" He snickers. Mum is such a bad liar.

"Oh, shush! I'll bet you were too."

"No!"

Mum laughs, and Remus changes the subject. "Will I have to change schools?"

For a moment she looks surprised, then answers "Yes, I think you might have to. I'm sorry, love, it can't be helped."

He shrugs. "That's alright. That place is rubbish anyway."

They focus on their chicken and sprouts for a bit, then Remus decides to ask what he'd been wondering about for a long time. "Mum?"

"Yes?"

"I'm magic like Dad, right?"

"Yes, you are."

"He talk...He talks about school, though. A special school, for magic kids. Where he went."

She nods.

"Well...When do I go there, then?"

Her face doesn't change, but her eyes suddenly look very sad. "You won't be going there, darling. It wouldn't be the right place for you."

The bitter disappointment knots Remus' hands in his lap. She thinks he can't go to the magic school because she worries, like she always does, about his moons. "This is different, Mum. Dad's okay with it, isn't he?"

"I wish I could change it, Remus, but that school's not right for you. I'll make sure you learn everything you need to know here."

Disappointment, like so many bad emotions do, starts to turn into anger. "But...Why can't we just ask Dad? Just ask him about it when he comes back home. He'd be okay with my going, I know it."

Mum reaches over and winds her arms around him. Still upset, he attempts to wriggle away. "It's not a matter of my allowing you, I promise- if I could allow you to go, I would. But you don't have to worry about that, because I'll do everything I can to make sure you get a good education, alright?" She looks straight into his face. "Remus? Alright?"

The adverts ended a while ago. Remus begrudgingly answers "Alright."

She looks toward the screen but keeps her hold on her son. "We'll be fine, won't we? The two of us? We're always fine, huh?"

A little smile edges onto Remus' face. "Yeah," he says.

He watches aliens and heroes move on the telly and, before the episode is over, falls asleep in his mum's arms.


	5. 29 February 1975

As it turns out, the four boys aren't the only ones who were drawn outside by the unseasonably warm day. Remus tries his best to tune out the noise. His eyes are fixed on the book in his lap, hoping to absorb its information by force of will. Maybe if he stares at the intricate little symbols until they burn themselves behind his eyelids, he need only blink to pass the test! Then again, he considers, wouldn't that be cheating? Yes. Horribly dishonest. He continues to stare.

"That book say something rude about your mum, Moony?"

"Huh?" The sunlight flashes red in his retinas as he looks up.

"You're glaring at your Runes book." Sirius is draped carelessly on the sill of a stone arch in the surrounding courtyard wall, watching him with amusement. He smiles his lazy, mid-afternoon smile.

Unable to come up with a witty retort quickly enough, Remus settles for a skillfully executed roll of his eyes. The mid-afternoon smile widens, baring straight teeth, pointed canines. It was the full moon last night, and Sirius looks as tired as Remus feels; his hand pulls through his dark fringe, pushes down on his tired eyes, and drags over his cheek in a single, comfortingly familiar gesture.

"Well, at least somebody's trying to study." Peter, chewing on his bottom lip, doesn't look up from the chess board.

"You're a brave soul, Lupin," James says dryly. Peter captures his king. "Dammit."

Peter grins and clears the board. "Better luck next time."

"Doubtful."

"Sorry, mate, but you're not any good at chess."

Shrug. "What? I can't focus."

"Speak for yourself." His focus, strained as usual after the moon, is being increasingly tried by the group of students on the other side of the sunny courtyard. Frank's gotten that Muggle wireless working well enough to produce sound, but nothing that can be construed as music. Disregarding this in the face of their victory, he and the other sixth year Hufflepuffs play it as loud as it will go. Several third year girls chat animatedly about some subject that must be uproariously funny, while a handful of suspicious looking Ravenclaws duck over a box that emits loud banging sounds.

"I'm really worried about Ancient Runes. I want to do well on this test, but I just can't _get _it..." Remus notices that he is gnawing nervously at his sleeve again. Childish sort of habit. His mother hates it- he wears holes in all of his things. Heavy sigh. He should go inside and get some real work done. Still-sore muscles protest. And, oh God, the sunlight feels so pleasant.

His thoughts are interrupted when Sirius steps neatly over James and Peter's game, drops him a grin, and saunters over to the clear space in the center of the courtyard. With a theatrical screeching halt, he whips around and throws his head back to the cold blue. James raises an eyebrow, Peter sits up.

Frank is the first one to notice. He breaks from his friends to approach the lone Gryffindor with his head back like a turkey during a rainstorm. Remus catches his words over the crowd: "Hey mate. Whatcha looking at?"

Sirius' eyes do not waver. "That."

Frank investigates. "What?"

"_That_, mate. That."

"I don't see anything."

"No, not there. _There_."

"...Nope. Nothing."

"It moves every now and again. See? Just over that mountain. I swear I saw it come out just a minute ago."

"Really? What was it?"

"Dunno. But it was _big_, though."

"Big?"

"Yeah, mate. Big as a house."

"Frank? What are you looking at?" Loretta Waterfield and Stuart Edgecombe look on curiously.

"Sirius reckons he's seen something big moving behind the mountains."

"He has, has he? This one and his mates tried to tell me garlic warded off Peeves two weeks ago. I didn't get out of that cupboard for _hours_."

"No, no, I mean it! I _saw _it! It was _huge_! I- look! It moved again! Frank, you saw it, didn't you?"

"Wait, I...Yeah, yeah, I saw something!"

"You're sure, Frank?"

"Yeah, something definitely _moved_ over there..."

"What moved?" The shrieking girls have taken notice.

"I dunno, Sirius said he saw something-"

"Sirius _Black_? Pull the other one."

"That's what I said, but Frank saw it too-"

"WAIT...Did anyone see that?"

"See what?"

Meanwhile, James is already bored. "Hey Pete, if you had to choose between sweating melted cheese whenever you got hot or vomiting up marbles whenever you felt sick, what would you choose?"*

Peter, however, is too engaged in the growing crowd of craned necks around Sirius to discuss the topic at hand. Remus is in awe.

"Okay, I definitely saw it that time!"

"LOOK! Right- right there!"

"Holy shit, I saw it!"

"Me too! Merlin, this is weird- what is it? Did anyone get a good look at it?"

"Sirius said he saw it- big as a house, right, Sirius?"

"Yeah, mate. Big as a house."

"Wow."

"Black, I don't know what you're sniffing, 'cause I'm not seeing anything."

"Hey, move over. What's everybody looking at?"

"Over here, Gwen- it's there. No, there."

"I heard a rumor there are dragons in those mountains."

"Where are we looking? I wanna see it!"

"Oh! I know what _that _is! I'm very familiar with this species, it's-"

"Stuff it, Xeno."

"You see that?"

"See _what? _I haven't seen anything!"

"Shut_ UP!_"

A combination of charisma and inhuman lung capacity makes Sirius particularly gifted at quieting a crowd.

"Everybody _shut__up_. We can't focus on spotting this thing when it shows itself if we're all shouting, can we? Now, _silence_."

And, to Remus' astonishment, there is silence.

Sirius saunters away from the mass of upturned faces back to their corner of the courtyard and sits back down again. James gives him a dubious look.

Sirius shrugs. "Moony has to study."

James rolls his eyes. "You couldn't have just hexed them all like a normal person?"

"Ah, Prongsie..." The lazy grin returns. "Where's the fun in that?"

* * *

><p>*- Stolen verbatim from a gangly boy with glasses.<p> 


	6. 12 June 1994

When Remus opens the door to his flat Sirius is waiting for him. Of course.

"You haven't changed your hair since 1976," Sirius says.

For the first time in his life Remus becomes aware of the fact that breath exists in one's entire body. It is pulled up by his lungs from his toes.

"I guess I can't say the same, huh?" He laughs.

He feels it breeze behind his kneecaps and draw his chest into three dimensions.

Sirius steps forward until he is an arm's reach away. He tests it by reaching out his arm to Remus' temple, barely brushing the silver that has accumulated there. His expression is that of a puzzled child.

"This is new, though."

The breath blows into his skull and Remus keeps it there, settled between his ears, making the space there quiet.

"How'd that happen?"

Exhale. "It's good to see you, Sirius."

Without warning Sirius' forehead dips down to rest on Remus'. It is silly and childish and desperate and full of the neuroses of a man who has not touched another human being in twelve years.

Sirius' eyes are closed as he says "Say something."

"...You smell awful."

A hoarse inhale and then Sirius is laughing. He looks positively ridiculous; gaunt as Death in grimy prison robes, folded on the floor in fits of hilarity.

"For god's sakes, stop it! Stop _laughing_ you- You just waltz in here and- this isn't some kind of- Don't you realize that this is s- Christ, I can't even say what it is because you'll make that _stupid _joke and just start laughing harder and GODAMMIT, STOP IT-"

His words tumble into irritated sputters and then he is on the floor next to Sirius, shaking uncontrollably with laughter at the absurdity of it all, at the horror and destruction and stupidity of the whole world and their inability to ever, ever express any of it.

"Where will you go?" Remus finally asks, catching his breath.

Sirius rakes a hand through his long, matted hair and looks up at the ceiling in thought. "Dunno. Anywhere my, er, new ride takes me, I guess."

"'New ride'?"

His raised eyebrow is met with a devilish grin. "Better than a motorbike."

"You didn't steal a dragon, did you?"

"Better."

Sigh. "Alright. I give."

"_Hippogriff_."

"Hippogriff...Ah. That'd be Hagrid's, I suppose?"

"Er, what?"

"He's called Buckbeak, he's Hagrid's. The poor creature was given a death sentence when Lucious Malfoy's boy kicked up a fuss."

Sirius rolls his eyes. "Nothing ever changes, does it? The apple never falls far from the tree, and all that."

"Guess not. How did you get him? Better yet-" He is amazed that it is just now occurring to him to ask. "-how did you escape? Again?"

The grin is back, brighter and more devilish than before. "Oh Moony. You wouldn't believe me."

Remus' eyebrow inquires.

"Let's just say...nothing ever changes."

He feels a sunny glow in his stomach. "Harry's an incredible boy."

"Yeah, he is." Sirius' face is bright with paternal pride. "Prongs would..." The last word comes out in a strangled sort of squeak. He clears his throat. "...God, Prongs would be jealous." He chuckles to himself and then clears his throat again. It is quiet for a moment.

"I'm still waiting for you to be impressed with me. You know, for breaking out of Azkaban, sneaking into Hogwarts to kill Peter and fetch you, getting caught _again_, escaping _again_, and flying off into the sunset on a _bloody hippogriff_. Though," he says lightly, "the 'kill Peter and fetch you' parts haven't worked as flawlessly as I'd planned. So far."

Remus smiles mildly. "He's on the roof, I presume? Buckbeak?"

Sirius ignores him. He props his chin on his knees and fixes his eyes, with their new cold depths, on Remus. "Come with me."

Remus' eyes dart to his fraying sleeve. He really should get a new jumper. "He'll probably need a rest by now. I'm not too familiar with hippogriff dietary habits, unfortunately. Does he hunt?"

The sunken grey eyes bore patiently into his face.

"It's good to see you, Sirius." As soon as it comes out he remembers he's already said it, but it seems relevant regardless.

"But you won't go with me."

The hole in his sleeve has increased significantly; he can now fit his whole thumb through it.

"I'm up here, Moony."

So he is. The arrangement of eyes and bone and skin and hair is decidedly, concretely there, shorter than an arm's length away. But his mind won't believe it; won't reconcile what his eyes are taking in to a real, flesh-and-blood form occupying the same space as his.

_Oh __God_, says Remus' brain.

"Why won't you come with me?"

"I've got a job at Hogwarts."

"No you haven't. Your prospects are just as thoroughly shot as mine are."

"Dumbledore owled you, didn't he?" Another thing he hadn't thought to wonder about: how Sirius had known where he lives.

"No. You've just always been a terrible liar." Remus gives him a look. "Fine, he owled me."

"Dumbledore wants me to go with you."

"He didn't go outright and say it, but I gathered as much."

Remus shakes his head and stands up. He digs in his jean pockets and pulls out a few notes. "You'll be needing provisions, I expect? Sorry it's not much. Here."

Sirius stares blankly at Remus' outstretched hand. "So you..." He pauses and appears to be thinking hard. "You're giving me, the convicted murderer, money so I can stroll into a shop and buy _provisions_?"

Remus blinks. "Oh. That was pretty stupid, wasn't it?"

_Dammit._

Sirius stands. He is emaciated and ragged, but he's still tall. "Alright, now give me the real reason. I won't force you, Remus, but I'd rather you didn't lie to me."

His eyes itch for the safety of his sleeve. They find the possibly-olive wall instead. "I'm not...like I was." _And __I'm __ashamed __of __myself._ "I've gotten old."

"You've grown up."

"You don't want me to come with you."

"Don't I?"

Sirius' tone of voice rips Remus' eyes from the wall. For a moment the gaunt face is truly alarming: corpselike, save for the searing eyes.

"Do you think I am like I was? Do I look it? Christ, I..." The bones of Sirius' trembling hands stand out sharply white as he clenches them at his side, as though preventing himself from reaching out and shaking the other man by the shoulders. "I thought, back there at the Shack, I thought you..." He takes a heavy breath. "I thought we'd get another chance."

_So did I._

Sirius waits. Remus does not say anything.

Sirius' voice takes on a foreign bitterness, a bite. "What is it that's keeping you here? Is it the shitty flat? The minimum wage? That jumper you've had since you were nineteen? What is it? I swear to God, Remus, I'll leave you alone forever if you just _tell __me what __you've __got!_"

Something nudges Remus' zen state. He pushes it back.

"I'm different, Moony, I'm really _bloody _different. I can't even recognize myself, sometimes I forget that any of it happened, that I ever actually existed at all, that I...But there's something that the dementors couldn't suck out of me and that's all I've got now, that's...that's it. You're it." The eyes are fierce and alien, bright and familiar, so familiar. He barks "_Say __something!_"

_What is there to say?_

"There's nothing I can do for you, Sirius."

_Or __for __me._

Sirius opens his mouth, then looks at the ceiling. "Alright." He turns for the door. "Have a nice life. Oh-" As he crosses the threshold, he tosses something over his shoulder. "Dumbledore sent that. Wanted me to give it to you. Goodbye, _old __pal_." He shuts the door behind him.

Remus tries to find a breath, but there's nothing there.

Eventually, he feels as if he should look at the thing in his hand that Dumbledore wants him to have. A silver cigarette lighter, smudged with use, sits in his palm. A piece of twine ties a tiny scrap of parchment to the device. It reads:

_Second chances._


	7. 16 July 1976

_"_Hello?"

"Can you come and get my brother?"

"Er-sorry?"

"My brother."

"I'm sorry, I can barely hear you- who is this, please?"

"My _brother_. My parents chucked him out of the house and I don't think they're going to let him back in this time."

"...Regulus?"

"Just- please? You're the only one of you lot in London."

"But, what...where did you get a telephone?"

"It's one of these booths on the street. Can you come and get him? He's down the street by now. I-I tried, I just- I... Please."

"What happened? ...Regulus? Are you okay? What happened?"

"Mum and Dad found- they found a letter."

"A letter?"

"Yeah. For- for you."

"...Oh my God."

"I couldn't do anything, I couldn't stop them, I couldn't- they wouldn't- just please come and get him, please? Please."

"Yes, yes of course. Thank you, Regulus. ...Regulus? Are you there? Hello?"


	8. 12 June 1976

Remus lies on the sunsoaked boards and battles with words.

Once upon a time, words behaved themselves; there was a time in which adjectives didn't take it upon themselves to change around. A friendly smile was friendly, just like it was supposed to be.

But that time is long gone. Now, smiles that are told to be 'friendly' decide in view of as many people as possible that they'd rather be 'fond'. 'Glances' come out as 'gazes'. Even unassuming, everyday verbs like 'touch' or 'nudge' somehow change into such saccharine substitutes as '_caress'_. 'Grimace'. There's a good verb.

He doesn't need to turn his head to know that the grey eyes have not left his face. "What's that look for?"

"Verbs."

Hum of agreement.

In truth, it'd be nice, wonderful, to be saccharine. To be fond and gazing and caressing and sickly-sweet, in front of God and Merlin and the giant squid and everybody. What's the point, anyway? The whole world knows. Obviously. It is a fact of the universe. It is understood by every human being everywhere, like gravity, breathing, and the summer holidays, and he learned it last.

He closes his eyes, shutting out the blue above him. 'Peaceful' is a good, trustworthy adjective. 'Tranquil', even. The sunlight is hot and white against his eyelids. It melts itself into his skin, pushing out the cold of exams. He is distantly concerned about the feel ('Soft') of the wooden boards under his skin. How old is the dock, exactly? But then he focuses on the gentle lapping sounds of the lake, and the warm, canine smell all around him that skips his nose altogether and goes straight to someplace in his stomach and in his chest and fills those places with sunlight, and he stops worrying. For a moment.

He opens his eyes again ('Blue') and makes to sit up. "Peter and James are probably looking for us."

A hand swings over and pushes him back down. "Probably."

"We've got packing to do."

"Yup."

The sunlight melts, the lake laps, Sirius-smell is everywhere.

"They're going to figure it out at some point."

"Yup."

"Any ideas?"

The dock creaks underneath him. Sirius has turned fully onto his side, propping his head in his hand.

"I've always wanted to have a coming-out party."

Remus laughs. "Really? What would that entail?"

"Oh, I dunno. Alcohol. Glitter." He looks thoughtful for a moment. "Lots of glitter."

Remus discovers that laughing while lying down is an odd, but not unpleasant, sensation. Then he realizes something. "Wait- you've 'always' wanted to?"

Snort. "I discovered this little fact about myself years ago, Moony. Well, not, you know...specifically."

"Me, specifically?"

"Yeah. That took a bit longer."

Interesting.

"What, you didn't?"

Did he? He's never thought about it, really. Well, not on any terms that weren't...specific. "Guess not."

"Well..." The warm hand turns Remus' face. Blue is replaced with grey. "...I think you might like blokes."

Remus grins. Sirius' smile defies adjectives.


	9. 16 July 1965

Mother and Father lead Remus downstairs as the sky turns dark.

He feels confused. "Mother, when am I going to Craig's house?" He made Father's old sleeping bag all ready this morning. It is in a neat pile in Remus' bedroom, along with his toothbrush because he knows Mother would want him to take it.

She looks sad. "I'm sorry, love, but I've told you. You can't go to Craig's house tonight."

"Why?"

She turns her head to Father. "Double check." She says it very quietly.

He tries to look at Father, who quickly takes his magic wand out of his pocket and turns away. Remus watches excitedly. Father hardly ever uses it when Remus is watching, though he can't imagine why: if he had a magic wand, he would never stop making things change colour and fly across the room. Right now, though, Father is walking around the basement, pointing the wand at walls and saying very quiet things that Remus can't hear. Mother is still looking at Remus, smiling. She is wearing her pink sweater that smells nice and leaves itchy little marks on Remus' cheek when he hugs her and she looks worried, and she is smiling.

"I can sleep at Craig's house without wanting to go home, honest. I won't miss you or anything."

She laughs and it sounds strange, like she is laughing and crying all at once. "I know you can. I phoned Mrs. Weber, she says you can go in a few days. It'll all be fine, I promise."

"But...why?" He doesn't understand. Two weeks ago Mother had said that tonight he could sleep at his friend Craig's house next door if he wanted to. She had asked him if he would mind not being at home for a whole night, but he knows that he is quite old now and that he will have fun.

Mother goes to Father and they talk very quietly. Father looks out of the small window at the top of the wall and says something to her that makes her look upset. Remus begins to feel worried; Mother does not get upset, only Father does that. She is acting very strange tonight. Father keeps looking out of the window into the dark as she crosses the room. She tells Remus that he will be staying down here for tonight but that she will see him first thing in the morning. She helps him undress and her warm hands know how to remove his shirt without making his shoulder sting. The dog made a scar there; it's big and lumpy. The doctor took off the bandages a few days ago. He says the scar should get smaller, but it still feels quite funny and it hurts sometimes.

Father crosses to Mother and says another quiet thing right into her ear. Then he moves away from them toward the door.

Mother crouches down until Remus is looking right at her. She is smiling and her eyes are strangely bright and shiny. She takes her warm hands that make everything better and put them on his face. "I love you, darling. I love you very much. You'll see us first thing in the morning. Alright?" He nods.

She stands very slowly and goes to where Father is standing. "Good night, Remus. We'll see you in the morning," he says. Then they leave.

He is still very confused. For some reason, Mother and Father want him to sleep in the basement tonight. Maybe they think he isn't big enough to spend a night away from home yet, but he wishes they would have at least given him his pajamas. Even though it's summer, the little stone room feels very cold. Remus doesn't like it, he doesn't understand, and he feels angry tears stuffing up his throat and making a hard, painful lump there. He looks out of the small window at the top of the wall and sees that the sky has gotten much darker.

He feels very strange. Something with strong, angry hands pulls on his legs and arms, his fingers are twitchy. His shoulder hurts, everything hurts. He doesn't like it, he wraps his arms around himself so that his body won't come apart. He doesn't understand, why would Mother and Father do this to him, why won't they let him out and make it stop? Make it stop, make it stop, please. There are hot tears on his face; _please please please_. He feels the sharpness in his shoulder again, except it's worse than it was last week. It hurts, it hurts so bad, he's coming apart, he's ripping to pieces, he wants it to stop, he's so horribly confused and he wants Mother and his pajamas. The hard lump in his throat is growing and changing and scratching.

Outside of the small window at the top of the wall, some clouds move away from the big white moon in the sky. He howls.


	10. 25 December 1980

"And that-" Lily stabs a finger in the direction of a single cardboard box in the corner of the sitting room, "-is the last one."

"Thank _God_," says James. He is sprawled on the rug against the sofa with Lily perched above him, and her hand cards through his eternally messy hair. "I don't want to see another box for as long as I live."

"Our sympathies," replies Remus. "We've got quite a few more yet."

He is rather glad that James and Lily offered their place for Christmas; Remus and Sirius' new flat is a frightening sight to behold. This sitting room, however, is already a haven of warm holiday sentiments. The spindly tree glitters with enthusiasm, picturesque snowflakes spin outside the window, and Lily's passion for knick knacks gives the place a lived-in charm.

Remus feels disarmingly blissful. James and Lily's cozy little house exists in a totally different universe than the one he usually inhabits. The war does not exist, friends do not go insane or mysteriously missing. He sits with the hearth warming his back and Sirius' hand in his and he is able to convince himself that they are normal, carefree young men, sitting with their friends at Christmas. Well, he could, anyway, if not for Peter's absence. He was especially close to Frank, and lately has taken to spending a lot of time with his family in the country. Remus feels the vague feeling of _something __wrong _gnawing at his tranquility, of unbalance; the room is lopsided without its fifth occupant.

"'_A __few __more_'?" Sirius' lofty and horrified voice brings Remus back to the conversation. "There are thousands! They're multiplying, I swear! One day we'll all wake up and the boxes will have declared themselves our Cardboard Overlords."

"Last time I let you in the cinema."

"Agh. Let's stop talking about boxes. Forever."

Lily reaches down and gives James' untidy head a playful shove. "Shut up, like you did any unpacking."

"I kept this one quiet, didn't I? Speaking of..." Harry is crying again.

"It's your face. It offends him."

"Very mature, Padfoot."

Lily rolls her eyes as she takes a sip of tea. "How is the new place feeling?"

"Oh, we're adjusting wonderfully, I think. The extra space is nice, of course, and feral cats don't fight outside of our window at night anymore-"

"_That _was bloody awful; I thought they might like to make friends with Padfoot, but Moony objected for some reason-"

"-and we met our land lady this morning. Lovely woman, brought us some homemade gingerbread-"

"Bit thick, that one. Suspect she thinks we're brothers; kept saying how terribly nice it is that we're so close. I don't care if she thinks we're twin sisters so long as she keeps bringing us food. Bloody hell, Prongs, what'd you do to your baby?"

"Hold on, he loves this-" James says over Harry's screams. He withdraws his wand and conjures up a little cloud of bright blue smoke in front of the infant's face. Unamused, Harry wails louder.

Sirius, _tsk_ing, swoops down and takes him from his father's arms. Remus smiles fondly at the absurd picture before him: Sirius stands in his favourite torn up t-shirt, straight-legged jeans, and heavy black boots, with that ridiculous safety pin through his earlobe, cooing at the baby in his arms. Harry gurgles happily. Lily laughs at the appalled look on James face.

"But- but- how is he-?" James stammers.

"It's okay, the weird man's gone," Sirius murmurs. "Come on, let's go see Uncle Padfoot and Aunt Moony."

"Oh, _I'm _the aunt now?"

"You're either Aunt Moony or Fairy Godmother. Take your pick."

"Shut up with the gay jokes and sit down, you bloody hypocrite."

Sirius pauses to stick his tongue out with great dignity before plopping back down next to Remus in front of the fireplace. He musses the inky black fuzz on the infant's head and Harry giggles. James points accusingly toward the three of them, looking scandalized.

"OY! Get your own!"

Sirius peers at Remus skeptically. "Have you grown ovaries without telling me?"

He fights down a snort. "Not to my knowledge. Again with the implications that _I'd _have the ovaries! I didn't fall shrieking out of the shower this morning upon spotting a spider."

Pouncing upon his revenge, James doubles over in laughter.

Sirius balks. "Wha- there was no _shrieking_!

"I assure you, there was. Like a little girl."

It is Sirius' turn to stutter indignantly while James rolls on the rug.


	11. 7 October 1974

Remus loves the Hellenistic Period. He lets his imagination run off with Professor Binns' voice, joining the gifted alchemists of Alexandria in their underground laboratories filled with the dark smoke of discovery. This is proving to be more difficult than usual, however, while his chair is being repeatedly kicked by one James Potter.

"Oy. Moony," says a whisper from directly behind him.

Kick. Kick.

Remus' quill scratches eagerly without his effort. A Muggle who called himself Thrice-Great Hermes presented himself as the most knowledgable alchemist in the world after his apprentice, a young wizard, tried to explain why the experiments worked when the boy touched them.

Kick. Kick. Kick kick kick.

"Remus. Reeeemus. _Moony_."

Believing in his own genius, the Muggle man composed a book of alchemical philosophy. It was, of course, all nonsense.

"MOONY."

KICK-KICK-KICK-KICK.

Remus refuses to turn around. "What?" he hisses.

"This is so _boring_," says James in a stage whisper by his ear.

"Bother Sirius and Peter." The emperor, fearing the power of the magical population, ordered many alchemical texts to be burned. This did not have the desired effect, however, as the real wizards and witches seldom called much attention to themselves and mostly only Muggle texts were destroyed.

"They're...indisposed."

Remus gives up and turns around in his chair. Sure enough, on both sides of James was a head upon a desk, one sandy blonde and the other glossy black. The black one was emitting soft snores.

"Pay attention, then."

"P-_pay__attention? _Me?" James voice has gone well past a whisper at this point. The day that Professor Binns notices the activities occurring in the back of his classroom is the day that Sirius vows to never again scream "FIRE!" outside of the first years' dormitory. "I don't need this rubbish! You're the smart one, that's your game. I get by on charisma."

"I won't be for much longer if you don't let me take notes." Pythagoreanism, Platonism, Stoicism, Gnosticism...

The kicking commences once again. "Moony. Moony Moony Moony. Remus. RemusRemusRemus. Remuuuus."

He offers apologetic glances to Alice on his left and to Imogen on his right and tries to catch up in his notes.

"OY! MOONY!"

Across the room, the only other attentive teenage head in the room whips around.

"Potter," he snarls, "kindly close your mouth before I hex it shut."

James flicks his hair back from his eyes, looking like his birthday has come early. "Right then, Snivellus. Go on. Hex me. See what your _girlfriend_ says. Probably something about 'sinking to my level', eh, Evans?"

Remus feels a rush of sympathy for Lily as he sees her shoulders tense, the only Gryffindor on her side of the classroom. Severus flushes brilliantly red beside her. "Not my-...shut up, you-you arrogant-"

James' snort of laughter jerks upright the black head at his side. Sirius snuffles sleepily, his fringe defying gravity as he sniffs out the scent of mischief in the air. "Whaddahmiss?" He blinks in Peter's direction and slams a hand on the desk in front of him. "Up an' at 'em, Petey." Peter jolts awake as if electrocuted.

Surrounding students have roused themselves from daydreams to watch. Remus silently wills Professor Binns to notice the impending doom.

"Yeah, 'course you won't. Can't risk getting your hands dirty, can you? You might as well, mate, the rest of you's pretty grimy anyway." Someone nearby giggles.

Severus nearly falls over in his chair. "Don't try to say I'm some kind of coward just because I don't- I don't-" He sputters incoherently. "You and those three, thinking you're charge of everything- lurking around the school at night, out marauding on the grounds-"

"We _maraud_, do we, Snivelly?" Sirius jeers. "That's a new one, boys. I rather like it." Peter snickers.

Remus tries desperately to listen about the Alexandria Warlocks' Riot, but to no avail. Something icy had slithered into his chest at the boy's remark about "marauding on the grounds" at night- it's just a bit too close to the truth. He wishes James would shut up; he turns into such a prat around Severus Snape. A bigger one than usual, anyway.

"Weeeell, that's sure a lovely vocabulary you've got there." James tips back on two chair legs. "You're still a great slithery grease stain, though. Too bad."

Lily is hunched over her parchment, glaring at her notes. "James, I'm trying to take notes, please shut UP," Remus mumbles.

"Come on. Someone's gotta tell Snivelly to keep his beak out of everyone else's business." Most of the class is now turned toward James, waiting to see the sparks fly. Professor Binns, however, continues to soliloquize to the blackboard. Remus wonders if it's possible for ghosts to be deaf.

"You really should quiet down a bit. Binns will notice one of these days."

"Not likely."

"But-"

"Moony, shush," Sirius says as he aims a wad of parchment at Severus' head. Remus' protests dry up in his throat and he returns to his notes.


	12. 4 June 1976

"I've brought your book."

"Oh, thanks so much. Was it helpful?"

"Very much so, yes. Thanks."

Pause.

"Are you alright?"

"Of course. Why?"

Pause.

"I'm...I'm sorry about-"

"You mustn't apologize for Severus. That's ridiculous. And there's no need."

"I wasn't apologizing for- for him. I feel as though..."

"Don't apologize for your friends, either. That's even more ridiculous."

"I'm apologizing for myself."

"You? Why?"

"I feel as though-"

"You feel as though you could have done something? Don't be silly."

"I'm not being _silly_! I hate it, I hate that whenever they do something stupid I go along with it, and whenever he tells me to shut up I shut up, and I'm so-"

"'He'?"

"Hmm?"

"You said 'he'."

"Sirius!"

"He didn't have anything to do with it, it was all Potter today."

"Well, that's James, isn't it?"

Remus hates himself.

"Merlin, that was insensitive, wasn't it? I'm sorry."

"Why do you think that is, Remus?"

"I'm a teenage boy, we excel at insensitivity."

"No, why- No. You shut up when he tells you to shut up. Why do you think that is?"

"I guess you're wanting to go with the classic 'self-esteem issues' excuse on this one, but I'm much more inclined to think that I'm a massive sort of coward."

"I disagree."

"I appreciate the compliment, but let's be perfectly honest with each other here. I'm sixteen years old, I should be able to tell my friend when he's being a arse!"

"God, boys are stupid."

"While that's certainly true, it's hardly a question of stupidity."

"Believe me, it is."

Lily whisks out of the library, leaving Remus just a little confused.


	13. 16 July 1994

Remus follows the otherwordly heat in his chest into the dark, feels his body squeezed through space, and the air is thick and hot as he falls to hard ground.

Is he dreaming? Always a possibility. The dirt under his fingers, the humidity pressing into his skin- well, it seems real. It is dusk, and the air smells vaguely...tropical? No, his dreams are nothing like this. He is awake, then; awake and thoroughly disoriented.

Moments ago he was in his flat, his possibly-olive flat, perhaps reading or sleeping or staring at his hands- he cannot recall, it all blends together. Then a voice, as clear as if the speaker stood in the room: "Remus."

"...would know. He was always good at this sort of stuff. Dunno why I'd have thought to learn. I had a _fucking __wand..._"

The silver lighter, sitting innocent and forgotten on his bookshelf. And then...

The air is thick and hot and smells vaguely tropical and Remus is sprawled in an uncoordinated lump in the dirt, and Sirius whacks two twigs together at the feet of a massive grey hippogriff. Remus is now quite positive that he is not dreaming: his unconscious could never conjure up something so perfect.

The twigs halt in middair as Sirius' eyes flash up in the gathering darkness and lock onto his. "I was trying to light a fire," he explains, his tone conversational.

Remus wonders what organ it is that lodges in close proximity to the human heart, then dearly hopes that it isn't necessary as he feels it erupt.

The cold space inside himself in which he'd hidden for years, which he had so willingly returned to, slowly sizzles away while he realizes with arresting clarity what an utter _idiot _he has been for so, so long. It floods in all at once: he remembers, he understands, he _gets _it, the universe is spread out before him, laid bare. Eureka.

His brain had told him all those years ago to run away from that which threatened to break him, so he'd listened. Self-preservation. He had deliberately forgotten the most fundamental law of the universe. He'd shut himself up in days that blurred and in ambiguous colours and in things that are _not __done _and _not __thought __about, _in an effort to forget the existence of gravity. He'd received a ragged visitor to his flat who tried to make him remember that two does in fact follow one and that summer follows spring, but Remus was too ashamed, too lonely, too stupid, too lost to remember, so he chose to forget.

Here he is. Remembering the law of the universe.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.

How to explain?

"I love you," Remus says.

The twigs drop unceremoniously from Sirius' fingers. The gaunt man takes slow, deliberate steps toward the pile of Remus before him and pulls him clumsily to his feet.

"How did you...?" Sirius tilts his head like a confused puppy, contrasting oddly with the haggard features, then shakes it. "You know, I don't even fucking care." Then he's kissing him and two follows one. It is violent and uncoordinated and Remus is not quite certain what to do with his hands and they might be sixteen year old boys again, running on enthusiasm, nervous energy, and weird, big feelings that they don't quite know how to express. And finally, finally, everything is okay.

Well, there is one significant difference. Remus grimaces against his lips.

Sirius pulls back an inch or two. "My technique hasn't gotten _that _bad."

Remus scrunches up his face toward his nose. "We need to find you some mouthwash."

"We'll work on it," he answers, then yanks his face forward again.


	14. 22 January 1979

Remus is the only person awake in the whole of the universe. It is half past Still Dark Outside o'clock, also known, to a certain Animagus in his bed, as Too Bloody Early. The window pushes back on the icy sky, holding it off from where he sits, propped up on the mattress on the bare floor. He enjoys the peace, and the sharpness of the morning, and the cold air juxtaposed by the impossibly warm body curled up next to him, and the sound of impossibly warm breath. He also enjoys the crossword.

Five letters, a genus of perennial shrubs and trees. Starts with 'y'.

Damn. Sirius is far better at these. Has a particular knack for them. Wake him up?

His face is more peaceful than it could ever be in consciousness, lips slightly parted to exhale visible puffs of warm breath. His hands could even be graceful, curled gently near the inky mess of his hair on the pillow. Remus watches his eyelashes twitch over whatever dreams he's having; a few strands of hair flutter in the wake of his breath.

Wake him up later.

Perennial shrubs. Surely knowledge from Herbology is useless here; this is a Muggle paper, after all. What does he know of Muggle shrubs? Pine. Spruce. Fir. Hemlock. None of which start with y. Bugger.

Last part may have been out loud; there is a stirring at his side.

"It..." The syllable is pronounced with great effort and importance. "...is Too Bloody Early."

"What's a perennial shrub that starts with the letter 'y'?"

Snuffling sound that might be laughter obscured by a pillowcase.

"You're..." General drowsy rustling. "You're up at Merlin-fucking-knows doing the crossword."

"I was up, I was bored. Perennial shrub, starts with 'y', five letters."

Sirius shoves his face back into the pillow and makes a humming sound at the back of his throat. "God, I love you so fucking much."

Remus drags his fingers through the tangled black hair. "That's more than five letters."

"Sooooorry, it's too early for me to be such a girl...Look what you've done, you bastard..."

Remus smiles down at him and lets his hand rest over Sirius' forehead, stroking his temple lazily with his thumb.

"But really, though. Just...aaagh...I do. So much."

The words are blurred around their edges with sleepy sincerity. Remus adjusts himself on the bed, sliding down so that they rest forehead to forehead, huffing visible air into each other's faces.

"I love you too."

Sirius' eyes flicker open. Nebulas of grey and blue and silver and gold.

"The crossword answer's 'yucca'."

* * *

><p>the end **<p> 


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